


Blue Reflections

by Still_Dreamin



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Bartender Harry, Christmas, M/M, New York City, Rich Louis, Rich Louis Tomlinson, Snow, Student Harry, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 11:05:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5537546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_Dreamin/pseuds/Still_Dreamin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I hope this fic makes sense. Basically 19yr old college student Harry and 24yr old rich, businessman Louis who's birthday comes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Reflections

**Author's Note:**

> Please do comment. Constructive criticism is always welcome!
> 
>  
> 
> This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

"Spare some change?" An old man thrusts a plastic cup in front of Harry as he's on his way to work.

"Uh, yeah," Fingers numb from the cold, Harry slips them inside his coat pocket and fishes out a one dollar bill, "Sorry, haven't got much myself," He apologetically whispers, dropping the money into the practically empty cup.

"Lord bless your soul, son," The old man's eyes are honest and bright, "You're a kind soul, you will have more than enough one day."

Harry shivers against the wind, and licks his lips, "Thank you," He nods, heading on his way again. He knows that people in the streets are said to make more than enough in New York City, but that doesn't stop Harry from dropping a dollar or two into empty cups from time to time.

Harry doesn't have much at all. He was raised in an orphanage in Cheshire, England, where he spent his entire childhood as an outcast. At sixteen, he moved out and worked his ass off till he could afford to make his way to the big city, not London, but one which lay an ocean away. Something about the city drew him here, as if there was someone screaming his name repeatedly and he had to come, as if he had no choice. Now, nineteen, he's still working his ass off, struggling to get an education. He's not sure what it was that made him come here anymore, but here he is, and here the city is. There's no going back anymore.

Right now, it's three in the afternoon and Harry is heading to work. He's a bartender. It can be quite fun. He's learned a few tricks and most of the people who come in are quite interesting. Some people have crazy connections and some people are crazy rich and others are simply crazy.

Gray boots and black jeans take step after step over the salt covered sidewalk. Harry digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his dark black coat, taking a breath full of snowflakes. The cold here makes it hard for him to breathe. He should really remember his scarf next time he leaves his apartment.

Ah, yes, Harry has an apartment of his very own. Well, it sort of counts as an apartment. It's barely 200sq feet. It's small but it's the only thing Harry can afford, and it costs him a nine-hundred dollars a month. But, it's clean and has a working stove and oven. All Harry needs is a kitchen, a bathroom and a small bed. Well, his bed is really a futon about six feet across on the longest side. Harry can't straighten his limbs on it without his feet hanging off, but it works. It's not much, but at least he isn't on the streets. 

Blurred faces and muffled voices move around Harry in a haze. At first, New York City was almost overwhelming. There are so many sounds and so many colors, it seems hectic. The secret is, it's not hectic at all, it's a rhythm, it all blends together.

Harry's supposed to be a university student, but he's only able to pay for two classes this semester. He can't even manage to put himself through college. He's actually a struggling college student. He considers dropping out of college nearly every day, but he pushes those thoughts to the back of his head for now and keeps walking.

One block left till he arrives at work, and Harry can already smell the stench of alcohol leaking out of the bar.

Robo's Bar stands strong and proud amongst the bustling city. It's quite a big place too, and practically high class. If Harry's honest, it isn't really that rich of a bar, but it's quite nice, and they often get people with too much money to blow walking in through the door, so that's got to count for something.

Harry works here from four in the afternoon to midnight every day of the week. Except Sunday. On Sunday, the bar is closed. The owner claims that Sunday's are days of worship and rest, not work.

Being a young and attractive bartender, Harry is always busy, even busier than his coworkers. It's mainly young women who choose Harry to be their bartender. Harry doesn't mind. The women tend to back off as soon as he smiles and says he's nineteen. They're all over twenty-one. It's culture here, women prefer older men.

It's half an hour till midnight when an attractive looking young man seats himself at one of the barstools in front of Harry. He's wearing an all black suit with a blue tie, and has his dark, electric eyes fixated intensely on Harry.

Harry's staring at the glossy top of the counter, toweling off a spill from his hand when he sees the man's face pop up. He just tiredly stares at the reflection for a moment, forgetting that he's supposed to be attending to the customer.

The man smiles at him, "Whip me up a French Martini, love," He speaks with an authority the softness of his voice combats.

"Sure!" Harry snaps into reality, and stops toweling off his dry hand.

The man watches Harry's every move with sharp focus. Being used to people staring, Harry doesn't mind, he grabs the three necessary items and a shaker. Ice, then vodka, raspberry liquor and he gets interrupted when he sets down the liquor.

"Skip the pineapple juice just throw in more vodka," The man tells him.

Harry pauses, "Are you sure? The pineapple is what wraps it all together," He grins.

The man licks his lips, as he stares at Harry, his smile gone, "I'm sure."

"Right," Harry lifts the vodka again and substitutes it for the pineapple juice.

As soon as Harry picks up the shaker, the man talks, "What's your rate?"

"Uh, Martini is twenty dollars," Harry raises an eyebrow.

The black suited man smiles, it's slow and amused yet, it doesn't reach his eyes, "Not the drink. I'm asking what your rate is."

Harry tilts his head as he pours the drink out into a cocktail glass, "Tipping?" He asks, glancing upward, "There's no rate for tipping, you can tip whatever."

The business man lets out a cluck at that, leaning in over the counter toward Harry, "Darling, what is your rate for a night?"

Harry leans back and nudges the drink towards the man. His space bubble is definitely been violated, "We don't get paid by nights, it's by hours," He answers, eyes skimming over the expensive tailored suit, "Why are you so interested in that?"

With a sigh, the black suited man settles back onto his stool, taking the drink with him, "Child," he muses, "How old are you? You must be 18 at least to be working at a bar, right?"

Harry smiles awkwardly, "Yeah, I'm nineteen."

Harry always knew that as a bartender, part of your job was to be able to easily chat with the customers. You were supposed to listen as they spilled out their guts to you over the counter, but this man in front of Harry isn't spilling his guts. This man is basically hounding Harry. Being the idiot Harry is, he didn't pick up on it till the man asked his age.

"So," The man begins talking as if he just said something of utmost importance, "You said your rate is hourly?" He sniffs and looks down at his glass.

Harry's mouth falls open. That's clearly not what he said.

"How much?" Ice cold eyes slice through the air and land on Harry's face, "Or is it like your tips, however much I want to give?"

Harry swallows, stomach muscles fluttering, body activated in fight or flight response.

"How's three-hundred?"

Harry's mouth falls open, "What?"

"Three-hundred dollars for an hour," The man tilts his head, dark blue eyes catch the light, glowing brightly as they scan up and down Harry's narrow, slender frame.

"No," Harry whispers.

"Five-hundred," The man offers, as if Harry were standing before him and auctioning himself off to the highest bidder.

"No," Harry repeats, face placid although he can feel it burning up. This is not something he ever thought he'd be asked.

"Darling, you're going to make me go broke," The business man chuckles, but there is no humor in his laughter, "How is two-thousand dollars for the night?"

Harry's mind runs through the math and he blurts out a question without meaning to, "How many hours is that?"

"Maybe three to four," Suit-and-tie replies, he licks his lips and continues, "That's five-hundred to about six-hundred-sixty-six an hour."

Harry shakes his head, "I don't think you understand."

The business man narrows his eyes naturally squinty eyes, "Darling, you hardly look professional. I'm not paying more than that."

Harry feels disgust curl at the pit of his stomach, "No," he lets out a hysterical laugh, "I'm not for sale."

The business man raises his eyebrows and cocks his head to the side, "Really, not even for two-thousand in return for a few hours?"

"Really," Harry nods, his student loans rushing through his head, pleading him to take the offer. He could work his way into the profession and make enough to get through college and find a proper job. Though, that simply is not who Harry is.

"Suit yourself," The business man runs his eyes down Harry's figure one more time and Harry cringes, "You're a pretty one. I'd come back repeatedly, same price."

Harry's closet sized apartment echoes through his thoughts. Nearly empty bank account and the building loans are all there. He does actually need the money, "Um-" he catches himself before he can say anything stupid.

"Um, what, darling?" The business man questions, folding his hands under his chin, "Um, yes?"

"Um, no," Harry swallows, "No means no."

The business man smiles at that, a sly, victorious grin stretches his thin lips, "In business, 'no' means it's not a fair enough trade."

"No means no," Harry continues, holding his small hand towel in front of himself now, "It doesn't mean to convince the person."

"All I ever do is convince people," The man says, "It's my profession."

Harry looks away, gaze wandering toward the other bartenders. They're all smiling, or frowning, or laughing appropriately at the tales the customers before them are spilling. Yet, here he is.

The business man clears his throat, interrupting Harry's thoughts, "Should I assume you are thinking about it?"

"No!" Harry snaps his head back toward the beady, blue eyed creature.

The business man smiles, and this time the smile almost seems genuine, but again, his eyes are untouched, "My name is Louis Tomlinson, I'm confident you must have heard about me."

Harry's jaw falls slack. Of course Harry has heard about him. Everyone has heard of him. He's fucking stinking rich, "Louis, huh? Louis Tomlinson? The Louis Tomlinson, and all you offer is two-thousand for a night?"

"Well," Louis takes a slow sip of his martini, "That could change, it all depends on how well you perform."

"I already said no," Harry repeats himself hastily.

Louis nods, "Yes, you tend to use that word unsurely a lot."

Harry glances around, uncomfortable, "Alright then, do you need another drink?"

Louis holds up one finger and tips back his glass, rapidly emptying it down his throat before continuing, "Was that an agreement mumbled in there?"

"W-what?" Harry stutters, "I never agreed to anything. You can pay and leave if you don't want another drink."

"Darling," Louis sighs, "I own this joint."

Harry startles at that, "No, you don't. You have a hotel chain. You don't own bars."

"I own plenty of local businesses as well, darling," Louis slides his business card across the table, "Since you seem unsure, you can contact me when you change your mind."

Harry shakes his head, "I won't."

Louis smiles, "I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't throw it at you," Harry replies, trying to sound sassy but ending up sounding somewhat stupider than usual.

"I'll get someone to 'throw' it at me," Louis lets out a huff of air which Harry assumes must be his version of a laugh.

"I still would like a tip," Harry crosses his arms.

"Oh, right," Louis stands up and pulls his wallet out, "How rude of me," He pulls out a few bills and places them on top of the business card, "Have a nice night," With that, Louis spins on his heel and submerges into the crowd, most probably making a beeline for the exit.

Harry sighs thankfully and looks down at the tip, eyes immediately going wide. It's a fucking five-hundred dollar bill. He grabs the bills and counts the total. It's 4 five-hundred dollar bills. Louis Tomlinson tipped him two-thousand dollars. It's not just a tip though, Harry realizes, it's a promise.

Harry shoves the money into the top pocket of his apron and slides in the card as well. Never know when a promise might come in handy.

A week passes and Harry keeps the card in his wallet. It just lies there, stuffed between folds of fake leather.

Gray boots click across salted campus grounds as Harry heads toward his literature class, backpack making his figure slouch. The ground is wet, no longer icy. Harry stares at the snow on the grass, just off to the edge of the sidewalk. Salt melts ice. Maybe Harry just needs a little salt in his life. Something to melt the ice away. Something to melt everything and he could be wet instead of- wait, that did not come out right. He could be thawed instead of covered in an invisible sheath of ice. 

A long black scarf with gray tassels hangs around Harry's neck today. The sun is out, the temperature is a tad warmer. Harry doesn't even need the scarf.

Three hours later, Harry's completed his two classes for the day and he's only got an hour left to get to work. He's got finals in two weeks but the two weeks are time that he has off.

Despite not having enough time, halfway to the bar, Harry stumbles into a coffee shop, ending up at the back of a long line. He needs to get caffeine if he's going to complete his shift. Sleep is a foreign concept to him.

Harry arrives at work with a half empty cup of warm coffee clutched between almost numb fingers. He's reaching for the door when a leather gloved hand races ahead and lands on the handle first. Harry's hand however, is already in motion, he grabs the smaller hand and freezes, staring at the beady blue eyes reflected in the glass door.

"Harold," Louis grins, eyes leaving the reflection and landing on the side of his face.

"Louis," Harry lowly responds.

Louis licks his lips and smiles when the wind wildly throws Harry's hair around, tickling it across Louis' face, "I love you holding my hand, child, but I'd like to get inside."

Harry pulls his hand back and stuffs it into his coat pocket.

Louis almost laughs, it's more of an amused huff really, "After you," He swings the door open.

Harry's eyes are on the ground, back muscles tense as he's forced to walk in front of Louis. A week without seeing him and suddenly he shows up right at the start of his shift.

"Would you care for a promotion, Harold?" Louis asks from behind him.

Harry spins around and gives Louis a bored expression. The question is sudden and reminds Harry that Louis in fact is the new owner.

Louis cocks his head to the side, "You'd probably make about two-thousand a night."

Harry maintains the expression as he pops the top off his coffee with his thumb and sloshes the coffee all over the expensive looking grey suit Louis is wearing today. Harry thinks to himself, that the coffee is a promotion for Louis' dead looking coat.

The smug smile drops from Louis' lips as he stands there motionless, "I think you understood me wrong, child."

"Yeah?" Harry asks, a victorious smile spreading across his face, "What the hell is the promotion then?"

"Dancing," Louis responds, small hands running down the front of his coat, popping buttons.

"What the fuck?" Harry snorts, eye's following Louis' movements.

"Exotic dancing," Louis slides the coffee stained coat off and rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt, "Stripping," He takes a deep breath and smiles again, throwing the coat over a chair.

Harry stares at Louis blankly again, "Why would I leave my job here to go be a stripper?"

"You'd strip right here," Louis walks up and gives Harry a reassuring pat on the shoulder, "Didn't you see the stage?"

Harry turns back around and looks up. Fucking hell. There is a stage, and poles, and cages, and oh hell no, "What the fuck happened?" Harry gasps, "I was here yesterday! When did this happen?"

"Over the course of the night," Louis clasps his hands in front of himself, "I got the girls too, I just haven't found a pretty boy yet."

"Better keep looking," Harry mumbles, rubbing his cold hands together.

"But," Louis turns and pouts, it's almost cute, "Here you are with such a pretty face and such pretty hair."

Harry rolls his eyes, cheeks flaming as he unwillingly blushes, taking a step away from Louis.

"Just dancing, Harold. No one gets to touch you. I wouldn't allow that," Louis continues talking from behind Harry, "You'd be the center of attention."

Harry takes a deep breath, "I'm sure the rich men you intend to attract will be more interested in girls than me."

"Most men are pretty damn gay, Harold," Louis snorts.

Harry turns around, eyebrows furrowed, "That's an insult to gay men."

"Back to the dancing offer."

"I don't want people to see me as an exotic dancer. It's a job frowned upon by society," Harry simply responds.

Louis' response is quick, "You'd wear a sparkling veil around your face, the only thing that'd be visible is those pretty green eyes of yours, love."

"Well," Harry keeps trying to make excuses for himself, "I can't dance."

"It's all choreographed, there would be lessons," Louis throws back, arching one thin eyebrow.

"I don't know what I'd wear."

"I'd take care of that."

Harry stares at his shoes thinking up more excuses, "What if someone recognizes my eyes."

"You'd be wearing eye makeup."

"That sounds nice," Harry accidentally says, "Um-" He glances up at Louis, panicked.

"If it's nice, then you should wear it," Louis comments, face neutral.

"It's frowned upon by society," Harry shrugs.

"So are gays, yet here you are."

"Who told you I'm gay?" Harry tries brushing Louis off.

"If you weren't you would have told me when I was talking to you the other day."

"Fuck off, Tomlinson."

"That's Mr. Tomlinson to you."

"Mr Tomlinson?" Harry furrows his eyebrows.

"Yes, baby?" Louis purrs, eyes lighting up mischievously.

"Fuck off," Harry laughs this time, turning his gaze back to the ground and letting his curls fall around his face like a curtain. He's actually laughing.

"I'm serious about the job, Harold," Louis presses, "You'd only have to work two nights of the week and you'd make nearly two-hundred thousand in the year."

"What if I want to work more than two nights?" Harry straightens himself out, interested when he hears the total amount he'd make in a year.

"I own two other strip clubs, Harold," Louis smiles slyly, "You could showcase in each of those once a week. That would be four days a week and you'd probably make almost four-hundred thousand in a year."

"Oh," Harry whispers, swallowing as he thinks it through.

"Does money turn you on?" Louis suddenly questions.

"What?" Harry's head snaps up.

"Does money turn you on?" Louis repeats, "You just practically moaned."

"I did not," Harry furrows his eyebrows, "I'm just thinking."

"You'd be the most important figure," Louis smiles, eyes back to a sharp, cold blue.

Harry makes up his mind quickly, "No," he shakes his head, "I'd rather not."

"Are you sure?" Louis grins, "Not even for four-hundred thousand a year?"

Harry sighs, "I'm sure."

"What if I fired you from your bartender post?" Louis licks his lips.

"Then, I'd have no choice for a while," Harry narrows his eyes in challenge.

"I'll just change the uniform and rules for everyone," Louis' eyebrows scrunch and he nods to himself, "Barely there outfits on everyone will reel in customers."

"Excuse me?" Harry scoffs.

"Keeping the veil," Louis continues chatting with himself, "We will have a belly-dancer theme to the place."

"Hey, there has never been a uniform here," Harry interjects, "It's been a perfectly casual bar, it's a place to relax."

Louis' eyes focus on Harry, "Yes, Harold, but now this is a strip club."

"Why are you changing it?" Harry rolls his eyes. 

"I just bought it," Louis says, "I am making it my own."

Harry pouts but stays quiet.

Louis sighs, eyes raking across Harry's face, "Thanks for coming in," he softly says.

"What do you mean? I have a shift," Harry snorts.

"We're closed, Harold. You're so distracted today," Louis grins, "If you'd take your eyes off me, you'd see the place is empty."

"When you talk to someone you tend to look at them," Harry snaps back. His side vision gears up into overdrive as he takes in the completely empty bar- um, strip club around him.

Louis loosens his tie, eyes narrowing further as he laughs, "You look at people that intensely?"

"Shut up," Harry mutters," glancing away and busying himself with taking his backpack off.

"There's workers coming in to redecorate today, you can come with me to help with the costumes," Louis suggests, "We can stop for dinner later and come back here to see how it all turns out."

Harry looks back at Louis, "Are we going to be alone?"

"We're alone right now," Louis scoffs.

The workers arrive then and Louis gets to work. He pulls out a stack of papers and talks through the designs as Harry sits on the stage and watches. Louis is short and his voice is high, but he walks around with authority. An aura of dominance radiates from him, and Harry can't help but stare.

The media tells you that Louis Tomlinson was born into poverty and worked his way to the top. They try to make him into an icon of hope for people like Harry, but Harry knows better. The media likes to take the small portion of people who make it and use them to glaze over the large portion who don't. The portion that doesn't make it is the one Harry is stuck in. If Harry was smart enough, he'd take the jobs he's been offered time after time by this man. He'll never be able to study his way up to making that much in a year. If he accepts the job, he'd probably be able to spend a good six years working it. If Louis is so sure Harry could make two-thousand in a night, fuck it would so be worth it.

Harry sighs and lies back on the stage, his legs dangling off. He stares at the dark blue ceiling, arms spread out and fingers tracing patterns against the smooth platform. He does yoga every day, that could come in handy now. 

The cross necklace slides down to Harry's throat. Ah, there it is, the thing that denies him access to these sort of jobs. He lifts his head up and fumbles with the clasp. Harry lifts the necklace up and dangles it in front of his face, staring at the silver cross against the lights.

"Contemplating morality?" Louis' soft voice floats up to Harry.

"I don't know," Harry sighs. Louis' hand settles onto his knee, making Harry jerk up.

Louis is standing to the right of Harry, the hand on his knee is a comforting gesture more than anything, "We can go now."

"Sure, yeah," Harry slides off the stage. Louis' hand slides up his thigh as he does and Harry is ready to swear at him again when Louis snatches his hand back.

"Uhm, sorry," Louis whispers, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing up at Harry.

Harry shrugs and nods toward the door, "Let's go."

Louis fixes his tie and nods, "Of course, lead the way, Harold."

Harry considers telling Louis that his name isn't Harold, but then he realizes he doesn't care if Louis knows his name or not.

"So, do I get a bonus or something for coming in to help today?" Harry jokes as Louis pulls his grey coat on.

"Considering the coffee stain on this Gucci jacket, I'd say no," Louis replies in a serious manner.

"Oh," Harry stutters suddenly, face hot again, "Um- I- it just-"

Louis looks up, lips curling into an amused smile, "Laugh, Harold," His eyes sparkle again for the second time that day and Harry thinks he sees an actual person inside of Louis Tomlinson.

"Go get us a taxi, would you" Louis asks, "I have to grab my briefcase and I'll be right out."

"Don't you have a car, Mr. Tomlinson?" Harry teases.

Louis smiles patiently, "The taxi, Harold?"

Harry blinks, "Uh, yeah," He grabs his backpack off the table he had set it on and swings it on, heading for the door. That was awkward.

The wind pushes the door back on Harry as he nudges it open with his shoulder and heads out onto the crowded sidewalk. Hailing a taxi isn't difficult, but sticking your hand out into the freezing night air is.

As soon as a taxi pulls up, Louis appears at Harry's side, supporting an air of warmth, "Lovely job."

"Where is your briefcase?" Harry asks.

"My apartment," Louis smiles and opens the taxi door.

"You lied," Harry gasps.

Louis pulls an innocent expression and nods, "Yeah, guess I did. Now, get your pretty ass in the taxi."

Harry shakes his head at Louis but climbs in first anyway, scooting all the way to the opposite side and setting his backpack down in the middle.

"Let's head to the One57," Louis announces to the cab driver.

"That's where you live?" Harry says with a gasp, unable to mask his shock.

"You're moaning again," Louis smirks, "Money turns you on, doesn't it?"

"It was a gasp," Harry turns to stare out his window.

"Beautiful gasp," Louis whispers.

"I'll honestly throw another cup of coffee on you," Harry retorts, eyes straining to catch Louis' reflection in the window.

"Oh, coffee is your kink?" Louis teases, actual laughter erupting through.

"Fuck off," Harry giggles, finding Louis' barely there reflection with his head thrown back. There is a genuine person inside of Louis Tomlinson's cold businessman shell.

The two arrive at the apartment in midtown Manhattan in silence from that point onward. Harry watches Louis' reflection. Louis talks on his phone about things Harry doesn't understand while repeatedly scanning his eyes over to Harry. It starts snowing, and even though Harry is staring at the window, he doesn't notice. 

Louis is still on his phone when they step out of the taxi. Harry moves slowly, so he'll end up behind Louis and know where to go.

"Yeah, Mark, we're here," Louis mutters, still on his phone, "My housekeeper will let you in if you're already outside my door. I told her you'd be coming," Louis fumbles around with his wallet and hands cash back to the taxi driver, "Keep the change."

A slow smile spreads across Harry's face as he watches the fluffy white flakes settle themselves into Louis' perfect updo.

There's that thing that certainly makes Louis stick out. Most businessmen don't tend to have such nice hair... or at least not the ones that Harry has encountered. But there Louis is with chocolate brown hair done up in a sharp, clean quiff.

"No, not you, it was the cab driver," Louis sneers into the phone. He walks around the back of the cab and stands in front of Harry, eyes immediately softening, "I'll talk when I get up," and just like that, he disconnects the call and shoves his hands into his pockets.

The cab drives off and the world keeps moving around them. The city that never sleeps is alive as ever. Strangers sidestep them as they stand too close to the curb. Vehicles run by, barely at a safe distance, scurrying along as the day ends and night owls begin to awaken. Yet, Louis stands there studying the way Harry's cheeks flush against the cold and wonders what on earth makes those green eyes so damn enticing.

Harry quietly watches as a soft smile appears on Louis' cheeks, and becomes aware of his own. They must look like idiots standing right next to the road, staring at each other, "So, your apartment?"

With a nod, Louis spins on his heel and starts taking quick, short strides toward the entrance of the grand building, "I've got the penthouse," he says, turning to look at Harry who's one step behind him, "It's going to be a long elevator ride, Harold."

"Penthouse?" Harry wheezes as if the breath has been knocked out of him, "I heard that went for nearly a hundred million!"

"I bought it for ninty-eight point four," Louis holds the door open for Harry.

Harry steps through with a quietly whispered, "Oh my god," He slows his walk so Louis can take the lead again.

"There you go moaning again," Louis whispers as he walks past Harry.

The inside of the building is warm, quiet, soft music plays from overhead as they make their way across the white tiled floor. Their shoes click rhythmically against the ground as Louis leads them toward the glass elevators.

"Hey," Harry quietly whines, "That was not a moan."

"Oh, shut up and admit it already, Curly," Louis teases, voice hitching a notch higher, "Money and lace panties, isn't that it?"

"Lace is cute," Harry mimics Louis' voice, only half joking.

"Naughty boy," Louis presses the elevator button and leans against the wall, head turned toward Harry, "I'm gonna have to tell Santa to put you on the naughty list."

"Ah, that explains," Harry nods, laughter sputtering out from him at his unspoken joke.

"What?" Louis raises an eyebrow.

"You're an elf, that's why you're so short," Harry grins stupidly.

"Oi, mate, what did you say?" Louis mocks seriousness. The elevator door dings open and Louis slides in.

Harry steps in behind him, "Petite, small, little, compact," Harry throws out, "Compact fits best."

"My bum makes up for it," and Louis arches his back, jutting his bum out to prove his point, "Smack it if you like," He winks.

Harry chokes on his laugh, "It is nice," he compliments, "Makes up for your lack of a heart."

"What?" the playful air gets left on the first floor as they start zooming upward.

"It was a joke," Harry whispers, studying the way Louis' eyes have turned into the midnight sky again. Cold, and out of reach.

Louis shakes his head and lifts one side of his mouth, "It wasn't."

Harry bites his bottom lip, eyes going to the ground. He just ruined the progress they'd made.

"Turn around," Louis speaks, "It's a nice view," He steps up to Harry and nudges him with his shoulder, "Everything gets smaller."

Harry spins ninety degrees, gazing out the glass wall as they gently glide upward. They're rising to the top of the city, and Louis' right, everything is getting small. He smiles at the sparkling lights, eyes blurring them out to focus on Louis' silhouette in the glass, "They look like stars."

"They are the stars of New York City," Louis responds. He's standing right behind Harry, breath spanning across his neck, "That's why there's no stars in the sky here. They all fell down."

Harry shudders against Louis' warm breath, "The sky fell down."

Louis cocks his head to side as he studies Harry's face. It seems to be a habit he has, tilting his head like that.

The way Harry's adams apple bobs and eyes stay strained on one point in the distance, Louis knows he's not looking at the city at all, "Look at me already," he whispers, "I know you're not looking at anything out there."

"I am looking at you," Harry smirks, "Your reflection against the city lights."

"How charming," Louis drawls. The elevator comes to a stop. The playful air chased them up here it seems, "Then you've seen me staring at you like an idiot this whole ride," and he walks out.

Harry lets his eyes focus in on the city again. Everything is small from up here. The cars on the street below him look like grains of sand, swirling around in a gray tube. He shakes his head and exits to his right, following Louis into the warm hallway.

The door swings open immediately for Louis and a short, stout woman greets them, "Good Evening, Louis. Mark Zhang is waiting for you, I let him in as you requested."

"Thank you, Marge," Louis nods respectfully, "I'm sorry I made you stay so late today," Louis takes her hand in his and smiles warmly, "You can go home, now. Thank you so much for attending to my guest."

"Of course, Louis, it's no problem," Marge softly responds, "Let me know if you change your mind about tomorrow. I can come in if needed."

Louis shakes his head, "Oh, rubbish! You go visit your family and go meet your grandchildren. I'll be fine," Louis laughs, "And bring me pictures of the little ones."

"I will," Marge nods, eyes flicking to Harry, "Good evening," She nods.

"Evening," Harry responds.

Louis pulls them all inside and Marge grabs her bag, "I should get going before the storm kicks in."

"There's going to be a storm?" Harry questions.

"There might be," Marge shrugs, "Or it could pass over us. You never know with this New York weather."

Harry laughs in agreement. 

"Have a nice christmas," Marge smiles at them as she walks out.

"Merry Christmas," Louis responds.

"Two more days," Harry murmurs. He's always alone on Christmas. The only good thing about the holiday is the sales that come after it.

"Come on, Harold," Louis beckons, "Help me choose outfits. I'm not good at these things, that's why I sent that email out asking for you guys to come in and help."

"I never got that email," Harry snorts, "I came in for my shift, remember?"

"Yet, you let me drag you all the way to my apartment. There's no going back now," Louis slides his coat off his arms and throws it Harry, "Go find the hamper then come find us in the dining room."

"I'm not your housekeeper," Harry throws the coat back at Louis.

"You work for me," Louis throws the coat back at Harry.

Harry sighs, "Yes, Mr. Tomlinson."

A small smile spreads across Louis' thin lips, "I love when you say that."

"Is that one of your kinks?" Harry mimics Louis' teasing, "Mr. Tomlinson?"

"Nah," Louis clicks his tongue, "Only when you say it."

Harry grins, "What else do you like being called?"

"Harold," Louis warns, "I gave you a job to do."

"Of course, Mr. Tomlinson," Harry laughs, thinking it's a joke.

"I have a guest in the next room, if you don't mind," Louis excuses himself.

Harry pouts his lips and wanders in the opposite direction. If Louis just went into the dining room, then the hamper has got to be on the other side of the apartment.

The penthouse is very spacious. It's too big in Harry's opinion. Why would anyone want to live alone in such a large space? Nearly all the walls are glass and Harry thinks to himself that perhaps Louis lives here to get above it all in his own tower. Maybe he likes the concept of everything being small from up here. Maybe that's what helps him cope with the stress of his job.

Harry doesn't actually go far enough to find the hamper. He swings open the first door he sees and glances around. 

It's a little gym. A few machines reflect the light from the hallway. Louis has his own little gym up here. Amazing. Harry drops the coat on the floor, right by the door and closes the door. He'll tell Louis about it later.

Harry doesn't really help in choosing costumes. In fact, Harry sort of sits there tiredly the whole time. Though he nudges Louis' knee every time Mark suggests the color purple. The fourth time Harry knocks his knee against Louis', Louis nods.

"Mark, that's actually splendid, we should go with purple," Louis turns to look at Harry, "Is that good for you, Harold?"

"Sounds lovely," Harry grins, clasping his hands under his chin and glancing down at the designs.

Mark beams at them from across the coffee table, "Can never go wrong with purple and gold."

"It's going to have quite a royal theme," Harry wistfully adds in, "It'll look enchanting, as if it's been pulled out of a fairytale."

"A fairytale strip club?" Louis guffaws, "And here I thought all strip clubs were the product of fairytales."

Louis finalizes the small accents of the costumes and Mark leaves looking satisfied yet also positively stressed about the work that lay ahead.

"Swing by the place in two days to get measurements," Louis adds while giving Mark's hand a final shake at the door, "Thank you for the hard work you're putting into this."

"Thank you for the hard check you've handed me," Mark rebounds, eliciting a laugh from Louis.

Harry snorts from behind Louis, "Hard check? Who says that?" he laughs after Louis has shut the door.

"It was a joke, Harold, you've got to roll with it," Louis turns and fixes Harry with a smile, hands tucked into his trousers, "How about some wine?"

"Um," Harry's eyes wander around the walls for a clock, "I should actually get going."

"So soon?" Louis tilts his head to the side, "It's barely past eight. You should stay a while."

"That's great, actually," Harry pushes his hands into his coat pockets, he never took it off, "I'll get some extra sleep."

"Sleep?" Louis laughs, "New Yorkers don't know the definition of that word."

Harry snorts and heads back into the dining room, "I don't either, the prospect of it enthralls me."

"So," Louis voice softens, "Really, not even a drink?"

Harry shrugs, lifting his backpack off the floor, "No," He turns around and sees Louis leaning against the entryway.

"I don't bite," Louis jokes.

Harry turns fully and leans against the dining table, crossing one ankle over the other.

Louis' face drops ever so slightly, "I'll call in a cab for you, sweet cheeks."

"Thank you," Harry responds.

Louis pulls his phone out of his pocket and walks back out of the dining room. Harry tags along, fingers fumbling with the ends of his scarf.

"How bad is it?" Louis asks into the phone, making his way into the kitchen.

Harry sighs and moves into the living room. The couches are black leather and the glass walls absolutely magnificent. It seems to be lightly snowing now from what the darkened sky shows. The whole city is covered in a fresh layer of fluffy white. He hums to himself as he drops his backpack to the floor again, taking a seat on one of the couches.

It's probably going to take a few minutes for Louis to call the cab, until then, he'll sit in here.

Louis ends the call and carefully walks into the living room, not wanting to startle Harry with the news, "Uh, Harry?" But Harry isn't there, "Harry?"

"Harry, where'd you go?" Louis asks the empty room.

Louis walks around, searching every room in his penthouse and doesn't see him. Harry couldn't have just disappeared. Louis finds his coat abandoned in the exercise room and lifts it off the ground. Harry just tossed it in here? It's only when Louis' returning to the living room that he sees Harry from the hallway. He's curled into a ball on the couch.

Louis gently makes his way across the carpet and sure enough, Harry's eyes are closed, hands clutching around his scarf. 

"Was gonna say it would be safer to stay here," Louis whispers, biting his bottom lip to fight a fond smile. The young boy looks absolutely carefree in his sleep. When he's awake his eyebrows tend to stay furrowed in a scowl.

Louis settles himself down in the dining room, alone as usual. He's ordered food from the restaurant on the main floor of the building and is sipping away at his Yorkshire tea. 

Tomorrow is Louis' birthday, he's turning twenty-five.

He thinks of getting Harry something for christmas. Except, he's not sure if Harry would accept a gift. Being himself and unsure of how to make a cute boy like him, Louis decides he'll have to try something like that. Harry seemed to accept his high tip. Though, that was meant for another purpose. Louis mentally slaps himself for that.

It's the middle of the night when Louis walks back into the living room, soft blanket in hand.

Harry is stretched across the couch, one leg dangling off. He's too big for it. He's tall and lanky with soft hair that curls in under his chin. His boots are still on and for a moment, Louis considers removing them, but, he doesn't want to scare him awake. He gently settles the blanket on top of Harry's sleeping form and retreats back into his room. 

When the morning sun starts peeking in through the window, Louis strolls out of his room in grey sweats and a black t-shirt. Harry's awake. He's sitting against the armrest, back toward Louis. Louis freezes there, watching him, unsure of how he'd greet the young boy who carelessly dozed off on his couch.

"I can see you," A deep, rough voice calls out to Louis.

Louis' eyes flick around the living room, searching for a reflective surface, "Where? What are you looking in?"

"Picture frame," Harry responds, holding up the photo he's been looking at.

"Stalking my family, are you?" Louis jokes, slowly making his way over and stopping in front of Harry.

Harry smiles softly, pale green eyes flicking up to Louis, "Big one, huh?"

Louis purses his lips, "Yeah, eight of us," His eyes trail down to Harry's legs, his knees are up. 

"You all look happy," Harry continues.

Louis sits down by Harry's feet and Harry pulls his knees closer to his chest, "Go ahead and ask," Louis says.

"Ask what?" Harry's brow furrows as he looks up from the frame again.

Louis smiles at Harry, knowing he's just too nice to ask upfront like everyone else, "Ask where our father is, or ask how many men us kids are from. Ask why none of them stayed and why the photo is just of my mother and us children."

Harry's bottom lip pushes out, "Why would I ask that?" His expression is peculiar, confused and almost angry.

Louis shrugs, eyebrows shooting up.

Harry looks back to the picture, "At least you had a home."

Louis looks away, curious but not wanting to prod at the boy. Instead, Louis fixes his gaze out on the city, "It didn't really last."

"What didn't last?" A socked foot nudges against his thigh.

Louis looks down and smiles at the black wool socks on Harry's big feet, "Family. Home. Whatever you want to call it, Harold."

Harry frowns between the picture and Louis, "This picture isn't recent?" He asks. 

"Six years old," Louis replies.

Harry glances up only to find himself stuck in the blue of Louis' gaze again, "How old were you?"

"Nineteen," Louis smiles, eyes crinkling. He's completely unguarded, no steady steely gaze, just eyes that reflect the world around them and the person behind them.

"I'm nineteen," Harry replies. He looks back at the picture, "You look the same," his eyes come back up, "Does being rich keep you forever young?" He jokes.

Louis laughs, "I wish it did."

Harry's other foot slides down to press against Louis thigh as well, "Why didn't it work out?" 

"Family doesn't always get along," Louis shrugs, "If we did I'd have at least received a call for my birthday."

"Is that today?" Harry perks up.

"Uh," Louis folds his hands in his lap, looking down, "Yeah, it is."

"Twenty-five?" Harry coos, voice suddenly softer.

Louis throws his head back against the cushion, "Argh, don't remind me, Harold."

"Happy Birthday," Harry sing songs, eliciting a giggle from Louis.

"Shut up, Harold," Louis smacks his leg.

Harry smiles at the side of Louis' face. He's so soft right now. So soft and scruffy, hair fluffy and untouched by product.

"Enjoying the view?" Louis grins.

Harry's head snaps to the tv screen and sure enough, Louis' blue eyes are trapped in the reflection, watching him, "Picking up on my tricks?" Harry questions.

"Sure am," Louis winks and Harry cackles, throwing his head back as Louis watches fondly.

Harry nudges Louis with his foot again, "You're not a half bad person, Mr. Tomlinson."

"Is that so?" Louis turns fully toward Harry, resting his head on his hand.

Harry crinkles his nose, "Well if you get past the initial meeting."

Louis plans to drop Harry off that morning, but Harry stays. He makes Louis a chocolate cake and Louis jokes about how chocolate and sex go hand in hand.

"That's disgusting," Harry replies, even though he's still smiling.

"I bet, Harry, you could sell a slice of that cake for five thousand dollars to anyone who lives on the floor underneath mine," Louis rambles, jumping from topic to topic.

The morning comes to an end and Louis has to go to work despite it being christmas eve and his birthday. Harry heads to his apartment, claiming he's actually got a lot of homework, despite his break having started as of this morning.

It snowed heavily over the span of the night. Harry's boots are short and snow piles in, freezing his ankles as he walks. His scarf is snugly wrapped around his neck and mouth. The wind is so cold this morning, it burns. Seems yesterday's scarf did come in handy. 

Harry doesn't expect to see Louis again for a few days, but Louis, not wanting to spend yet another christmas alone sends out an invitation to Harry the next day. The invitation being a car to bring Harry back to the One57 building.

"Your hair is wet," Louis exclaims as soon as he swings the door open.

"I swear it froze out there," Harry reaches his arms out, hesitates, then quickly folds himself over Louis, giving him a warm hug, "Happy Christmas."

"Oh, look at despicable little me getting hugs from baby angels," Louis muffles into Harrys shoulder.

"You're not despicable, Louis," Harry smiles as he pulls back, face flushed from the cold, "You've just got two sides to you."

"What sides?" Louis side steps to let Harry in.

Harry lets out a long sigh as he removes his winter coat, "Soft side, and that disturbingly cold business man side."

"Speaking of that!" Louis bounces up on the balls of his feet, looking absolutely adorable as he's changed into lounging clothes again, "Why are you here?"

Harry freezes, eyes wide, "You invited me," He pauses, "Or, I think you did."

"I did, but as a friend, you know that, right?" Louis grimaces, unsure of Harry's reaction.

"Of course," and Harry's face flushes further, "I knew that. I wasn't expecting anything else."

"Good, see I'm not that bad of a person," Louis shrugs, "My initial impressions are never the best."

Harry nods his head, "I know."

"So, now that my initial impression for today was a good one," Louis points at the ceiling and trails off.

"You hung mistletoe everywhere!" Harry grins, "What the hell is wrong with you?" He snaps his eyes back to Louis' bright face, "Friends? You liar!" He laughs.

"A man just wants to be kissed sometimes, young Harry," Louis takes a step closer, "But that's up to you."

"Just a kiss, right?" Harry shrugs and takes Louis' little face in his hands, "Come here you tiny elf looking thing!"

Right before Harry closes his eyes, he catches a twisted reflection of them in a blue glass vase.


End file.
